


Freely given

by rustling_pages



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Identity Reveal, M/M, Prince's Gambit, but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-10 08:15:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13498112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rustling_pages/pseuds/rustling_pages
Summary: “There is something I need to tell you.”Laurent stills. Then, with effort, resumes movement, a single pale fingertip trailing over a map of the death-trap that is Chancy. Not a glance spared for his Captain, because he knows what this conversation is, and he cannot have it right now.“It can wait.”





	Freely given

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, yes, I have fallen into 'Captive Prince' hell. 
> 
> Seeing as there are surprisingly few fics out there that are only slight changes to canon - and I live for these small decisive moments where everything is on the line and it all may change - here's a short one. 
> 
> Set in Chapter 21 of 'Prince's Gambit'.

“There is something I need to tell you.”

Laurent stills. Then, with effort, resumes movement, a single pale fingertip trailing over a map of the death-trap that is Chancy. Not a glance spared for his Captain, because he knows what this conversation is, and he cannot have it right now. 

“It can wait.”

“I was going to wait.” He sounds so terribly earnest, and Laurent wants nothing more than for him to stop talking. “I wasn’t going to tell you at all, and let you come to your own conclusions.”

“So surely,” he bites out, “now is not the time for it.”

He does not have the means to deal with this, now.

“I have not told you, because it would have changed things irrevocably between us, but I fear if I don’t-…”

Laurent deliberately misunderstands. “We will meet again, when the battle is won. You can tell me then.”

Turns away from him, and the desperate eyes trying to catch his gaze. He remembers defiance in them, unbroken spirit even under the lash. He remembers hating them, and cannot conjure up the feeling. He cannot have this conversation while he can still feel the caress in them, the simple, worshipful pleasure, the naked need and sweet, honest sorrow at the thought of leaving.

He is unrelenting, now. Too determined to make right what can’t be made right. What still has to become vengeance, and at the moment, can’t.

“You need to know _now_. So that it cannot be used against you. You said I was not a part of your uncle’s plan, but I fear you are wrong.”

Laurent closes his eyes against this. His hands are white where they are gripping the table. Of course he would be _this_. Honorable, even now, even about this.

“I did not knowingly play into his hands, but as long as you don’t know-… I cannot let you be caught unawares.”

“I am aware.”

The words drop between them like ice.

Distantly, he can feel himself begin to shake, and puts an end to it. His back is aching with the tension of absolute rigor, restrained in tightly laced clothing like armour. Absurdly, what he wants most is his slave’s careful hands on him. Unable to drain tension, but as capable of relieving pain as they are of causing it.

The words, as he speaks them, are devastating. 

“Laurent-… _Do you know who I am?_ ”

He turns around in a single, measured movement. His eyes fall to the expression shattered open before him. Begging does not become the rightful king of Akielos. It never has.

“Who you are, is my Captain. The commander of this fort, of the men I leave behind. Who you are, is the man who will give me one more victory, because that’s what I need you to be. That’s who you’ve chosen to be, when you did not take the opportunity to leave, honor and freedom restored, and freely given. Whatever else you are; now, you are this.”

The moment expands like a breath drawn through barely controlled lungs. Deep and conscious, in full knowledge of how fast collapse can come. Must come, eventually.

Damianos looks at him like an open wound, but Laurent will not be any such thing. For now, he will not be the cause of one either.   

“Win me this battle,” he says, and steel melts into dangerous softness. “Meet me after.”

Damianos rights himself. Stands tall, raw potential in a body made for battle. Made to lead men to victory, given to him with devotion. On his left wrist, gold gleams, but it is no longer ownership.  

For now, he accepts the role he is given. He will not do so again.

Laurent lays out the rest of the plan, thought into being between the two of them. His hands would tremble, but he keeps them locked in tight circles around his own wrists.  

When Charcy is won, there is a man he has to meet.


End file.
